


La Vie

by Control_Room



Series: Everyone (or almost everyone) Is Saved [7]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Inspired by Music, La vie en rose, M/M, Perfectionism, Self-Esteem Issues, my art, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Full of imperfections.These things should not get to him.But they did.Magenta is @halfusek‘s on tumblr





	La Vie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Halfus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfus/gifts).



> for a bit of context, halfusek's joey is a perfectionist bassard and i love him

Joey felt unspeakably cold, like a chill had ebbed throughout his entire system. He grit his teeth, rubbing his arms.

Stupid kid making stupid comments.

That’s all they were. Just thoughtless remarks.

Nothing to them.

…

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

If they were just stupid comments, why would they hurt so bad?

He hunched over more, trying to force out the thoughts.

He was not messed up.

He was not.

He was not.

Imperfect.

He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

No.

Just because some, some, some  _child_ called him not perfect did not mean he was.

No.

He was just fine.

He was better than fine!

He. Was. Better. Than. Good.

 _Liar_.

No.

Shut up.

He was great.

Better than Bertrum, Bernie, Bertie, whatever the hell his name was. Better than him.

Better does not mean perfect.

He could almost hear the smile in the voice of whatever was taunting him.

He screamed within his own mind, drowning out anything else.

The scream morphed.

It was a chant now.

 _Imperfect! Imperfect! Imperfect!_   **Imperfect! Imperfect! Imperfect!**   _ **Imperfect! Imperfect! Imperfect!**_

## You will  _never_ be perfect.

Sobs overtook him.

NO.

NO NO NO.

Perfection is attainable!

He could be!

He could be perfect!

He just had to… had to… had to….

Keep trying!

Yes! With enough hope and force, he could achieve perfection!

He just… had… to… to keep….

He could not.

His shoulders fell.

He could not keep going.

He was done trying.

He could not keep it up.

He could no-

“Maggie,” the voice that resonated into wherever he was was so tender and sweet… it was questioning, unknowing, naive, and then the soft, sharp, gasp, and the hollow thunk of something hitting the floor. This was it. Johan would leave. He would never want to see him again. He would never want to see his imperfect shape ever again. Footsteps rushed to him. “Magenta! Darling, sweetheart, mi rey, what’s wrong? Please, oh no, mi amor, what’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth to reply.

Nothing.

He tried opening his eyes to see the man gently rubbing his shoulders and arms.

He could not.

“Oh, mi precioso…” Johan sighed, and he could tell that he was upset. Magenta cringed. He made him upset. Johan’s voice was thick and constricted when he spoke again. “It’s okay… everything is alright, right? Shh, mi cariño… breathe with me, in… and out…. And again….”

A few shuddering breaths passed between them.

“I’ll never be perfect,” he blurted. Johan’s hands on his arms paused in their rubbing. Magenta grit his teeth again, tasting blood as he bit through his cheek. “I’ll never make it. I’ll never be perfect. I can’t, I can’t….”

“Oh! Oh, mi rey, you, not perfect? Oh, darling, you are the most beautiful, most handsome, most extraordinarily perfect man I’ve ever met,” Johan’s forehead met his, his hand gently caressing his cheek, cupping his jawline. “Mi amor… don’t cry… don’t believe the lies they say… don’t believe the lies in your head….”

Magenta only managed a hiccuping sob, shaking.

“Sweetheart, come here, my darling, my perfect, beautiful, incredible Magenta, your eyes shine like the most pure and brilliant tsavorites with the most perfect cut, your hair is as silky and enrapturing as the deepest most perfect midnight sky, oh, your skin is like the stars of millions of galaxies, so handsome, so perfect, your body is flawless, each limb so willowy and graceful, so gracious, so perfect, so so perfect,” Johan had pulled him to his chest, swaying with him tenderly, his hands running up and down his back, comforting and homely. Magenta managed to open his eyes, his chin resting on Johan’s shoulder, and all he could do was stare straight ahead. 

There was no recluse, Johan left no room for argument. “Magenta, what a perfect beautiful color, all the majesty and royalty of purple blended marvelously with the passion and flair of red, so wondrous, so perfect…. Magenta, Magenta, I don’t just think you’re perfect… I know you are. I feel it. I can see it. I can hear it in your voice when you speak and make my heart pound, I can feel it in your hands when ours meet, I can taste it when I kiss your cheek, on your smooth, beautiful skin, I can smell it in your being when you pass by me with all your magnificent perfection, all of you, down to every minuscule bit that makes up the quarks within the molecules of your DNA, all of you is perfect. Magenta, Joey, I know you are perfect.”

“Hk… hk… hk…”

Magenta buried his face in Johan’s shoulder and neck, finally managing to detach his hands from his iron grip on his forearms and winding them around the man holding him up.

“Magenta,” Johan’s voice washed over him. A soft chuckle interrupted his steady breathing, bringing the dissociating Magenta back closer to earth, closer to his arms, closer to Johan, so close, like a shield, a bubble around him, sweetly relighting the path to calmness and tranquility. “I’ve been practicing… I came to sing to you… I think now is a good time, mi rosa, hmm? Would you like me to sing for you?”

“Yes,” Magenta tried to say. He wanted to hear Johan talk forever, sing forever, serenade him out of his mind, on and on. He did not manage to say yes. He managed, “Y’….”

Johan swayed with him.

“I dropped my guitar earlier,” he murmured with a smile in his tone. “So forgive me for the lack of a musical accompaniment, but I know you are more precious than all the instruments in the world, be them made of gold or diamond or from heaven itself, you are more than anything I could ever dream of, my perfecto Magenta… I’ll sing for you now, alright?”

Magenta, not trusting his throat with his vocals any longer, nodded against Johan’s neck. The ticklish man stifled a laugh.

He sucked in a breath to steel himself.

“Sorry for mispronouncing in advance,” he whispered, and [began](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2Fs8zZlP7s2NY&t=NWJhNDBiZGYxYmY3NDBkNjNlY2NlMTdiOWZiMzlhMmUwZmQ5YzQxYixMb25RR2hHag%3D%3D&b=t%3Avomi5LaWi8KPvUiHVtKd4A&p=http%3A%2F%2Finsane-control-room.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F181988050826%2Fla-vie&m=1).

“Des yeux qui font baisser les miens,” he kissed Magenta’s eyelids. Magenta felt his air catch in his throat. Johan was singing to him… in French. Oh… oh… what a sweet man. What a sweet, sweet, sweet man…. “Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche, voilà le portrait sans retouches, De l'homme auquel j'appartiens….”

He danced with him, a one sided, comforting, gentle, swaying dance. He was so sweet….

“The next line is a little reversed at the moment, mi amor,” he quietly told him with a smile in his tone, “Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose, il me dit des mots d'amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça m'fait quelque chose.”

Magenta breathed in, feeling the vibrations in Johan’s throat as he sang, letting his thousand yard stare ease down into gently half closed eyes. Johan’s arms held him up tenderly, as one would hold a gallery piece, as one would handle a newborn star, as one would caress an old beloved god. Johan’s lips were brushing his temple, his soft, sweet voice waving into him, the ebbing glorious tide.

“Il est entré dans mon cœur,” he lifted him off the ground, his thin, frail seeming arms much more powerful than he would ever admit. “Une part de bonheur.”

“Dont je connais la cause,” he spun with him carefully, holding him over the ground, holding him above all his pains and worries and fears. “C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie….”

“Et dès que je l'aperçois,” Magenta let him hold him, he let him carry him, footfalls in a strange city so similar yet so unlike his own quietly landing as he swept him off to a home so the same and at the same time so different to his own, dancing with his starlit, starheld form in his living room, but it felt like they were the only two to ever exist, it felt like they were two stars floating adrift, and no sensation felt so warm. Johan’s voice was sonorous and enveloping, his pronunciation imperfect, and it made it wondrously gorgeous. “Alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat….”

He paused to catch his breath. Magenta smiled softly, leaning up to whisper in his ear, finally regaining his voice, “Would somebody like some French tips tonight?”

“Oh, mi amor,” Johan’s voice constricted as his breath hitched, but he smiled, continuing, “C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie, alors je sens en moi….”

He laid on Magenta’s couch, bringing him with him to rest gently.

“La vie,” was he crying? His throat felt so tense, he loved Magenta so much, he adored him, every bit and kilobit within him singing the perfect man’s praises, “en rose!”

*****

Magenta had drifted to sleep to the sound of Johan’s humming, feeling it reverberate in his chest as he lay on him, their heartbeats at first out of sync and slowly meeting, gentle and warm.

Johan’s hands were rubbing his back.

His lips were pressed to the side of his head.

His legs were on either side of him, a barrier to the outside world.

What a sweet, sweet man.

One who believed in him.

One who loved him.

One who would do anything to make him smile.

One, who despite all his flaws, all his marks and marrs, believed him to be perfect in every way possible.

“Mag,” Johan’s sweet, delightful, sleepy sweet voice murmured, “Mag, you are perfect. Never think otherwise. Te amo, mi perfecto, mi amor, mi rey, mi perfecto….”

“Johan…” Magenta felt his heart swell, he felt his eyes well, and all he could do was whisper, “Gracias.”

“De rien,” was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep, drifting among pink stars. “Te amo.”


End file.
